Forgiveness
by a-few-of-these-verses
Summary: Two months after Sherlock's fall, Mycroft calls John to reconcile.


John walked down the busy London streets, keeping his head down, his eyes focused on the pavement ahead of him. Taking walks at night helped him stay relatively sane. He couldn't sit and relax without feeling angry. The walks kept him from thinking about Sherlock.

_Ring. Ring._

He stopped, moving his head to his left. A phone was ringing in a telephone box. Several people were around him; the call could be for anyone. John continued on his way, turning right onto another street.

He walked for another block before hearing the phone again. This street was less crowded, and John knew that the phone call was probably meant for him. He kept walking.

_Ring. Ring._

John paused and looked up, searching the streetlights. Three cameras were focused on where he was standing. John stared at the cameras before turning around, his left hand twitching. He wasn't going to play this game tonight.

John had only walked a few steps when he felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. He groaned when he saw the caller, and considered ignoring it. He let it buzz twice before answering.

"What do you want?" John asked as he crossed the street.

"When we first met you told me that I could always phone you on your phone," Mycroft said. "That's what normal people do, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but what do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Mycroft, I haven't seen you since the funeral."

"That's something that I believe should be fixed."

"Why?"

"There are things that should be discussed."

"Can't we just do this over the phone?"

"No, John, we can't. Now please get into the black car that's been following you for the last four blocks."

John looked to his left and found that there really was a car waiting. He opened the backseat passenger door and saw Anthea concentrated on her Blackberry.

"Hi," he said, nodding to her as he shut the door.

"Hello," she answered, briefly smiling before returning her attention to her phone.

"You know, sometimes I think I'm going to kill your boss."

"Yes, I've heard that from a lot of people."

"So, where are we going this time?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

John rested his head against the window as they drove through the city. His mind raced with thoughts. Mycroft was the last person that he wanted to see. It had been two months since Sherlock had died, and nothing made sense. The Richard Brook scandal was beginning to take a weird turn of events in the news. Very early on in the case, John had said that Moriarty was the real man, and Richard Brook was fake, but nobody in the press had wanted to believe him. Eventually, he just stopped talking about it. Rumors about Richard Brook not actually existing had just begun to appear on websites, and very slowly, it was being talked about by the press. These sites were discredited by some, and praised by others. John was just so tired of it all.

"We're here," Anthea said.

"Thanks."

John stepped out of the car and found himself in the same parking garage that he'd met the elder Holmes brother. He was standing in the center, leaning on his umbrella.

"John," he welcomed, a smile on his face.

"Mycroft," John nodded.

"No friendly remarks?"

"No, I actually couldn't care less." John's fingers twitched. "Why am I here?"

"I wanted to check up on you."

"You don't need to drag me out to a warehouse to do that. You have access to every code possible; the internet could have told you how I was."

"Yes, but that isn't very personal. I'm concerned you."

"Well what do you want me to say? Because I'm not fine, Mycroft. I'm far from it."

"I didn't expect you to be."

"He was your brother, you know."

"I know, John."

"No, I don't think you do. He was your only brother, Mycroft! And somehow, you sent him to his death!"

"John-"

"No, listen to me!" John felt his temper rising, and he knew there was no way to stop it now. "It doesn't make sense! Sherlock was innocent. You know that he wasn't a fake! There's just no way he could have faked it all. And he killed himself! Why would an innocent man kill himself? I think about this every day, and I can't come up with any answers. Not one. And that makes me angry. Angry because I don't know. Angry because no one does. Angry because he left me alone. And I see you, and I see him. You fed Sherlock to the wolves, and you didn't help him. You didn't try to clear his name when that reporter published the Moriarty story, and you didn't stop the press from calling him a fake genius after he fell. So what do you want to say to me? That you're sorry? It's too late for that."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and John felt his cool eyes study his face. "I am sorry, John. Just because I don't raise my voice or express my opinions doesn't mean that I don't have feelings. I wanted to put an end to our feud. It's childish, and it doesn't help us. Being angry at me won't accomplish anything. John, if I could change things, I would, but you have to accept that I did tell Moriarty about Sherlock. I'm not proud of it, and it's my greatest regret in life. I'm asking for forgiveness, John."

"You," John shook his head. "You're asking for forgiveness?"

"I don't do this often, so if you could just take my apology, we could stop wasting time, and I could allow you to continue your walk home."

"Alright, fine." John pressed his lips together. "But that didn't bring Sherlock back."

Mycroft gave him a weak smile. "I'll call you again next week. A car will be outside your flat to take you to a restaurant."  
>"Is this going to be a weekly thing?"<p>

"We're on the same side now, John. I wouldn't be complaining if I were you."

Mycroft watched John leave the garage before taking his phone out of his pocket. One new message was waiting to be opened.

_How was he? -SH_

_Angry, but he took my apology. -M_

_That quickly? I expected him to sulk for another month. -SH_

_No, he needs a friend, brother, and dare I say it, so do I. I may not let your blogger go when you come back. -M_


End file.
